


Songbird of Jamestown Ch.3

by VasaliaTheWise



Category: Jamestown (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, Angst, Colonial Life, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Reader being a sweetheart, Slow Burn, Virginia, We see Reader's feral side, a TWIST in the end, a bit - Freeform, and a bit oblivious, at least on readers side, flower picking, or is she/are you????, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasaliaTheWise/pseuds/VasaliaTheWise
Summary: The year is 1620. You have arrived at the Jamestown colony along hoping for a new life, friendship, and possibly marriage. Falling in love with the already betrothed company recorder and gaining unexpected enemies wasn’t a part of the plan, though (a personal favorite of my longer fics). Get ready for some period slow burn and mutual pining and DRAMA!
Relationships: Samuel Castell/Reader, Samuel Castell/You, Samuel Castell/fem! Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Songbird of Jamestown Ch.3

**Author's Note:**

> One scene of this chapter was inspired by A Beautiful Mistake. So all credit goes to that work and its writer!  
> Here we start with a very lovely, sweet scene that includes some fluffy flower picking. Enjoy everyone! But the drama is just beginning and poor Reader is in for it soon...

“Alice! Are you sure?” you asked.

She shrugged and said, “I have to. I won’t be alone. No matter what I think I…I must do it. I’ll be back home soon to you.”

Home. Already this place that was her little shelter away from her trauma was her home. Not the place she was bound to. The place you now knew the family was in debt in order to have her.

She gave you a look that everything was alright, despite its tiredness and walked off with the family. You clenched your fists and stared until she had disappeared. Just to be sure.

Off to see the lands that she would have to manage soon. Lands that would support her.

Yet at what cost?

The next few hours were quite typical. Church dulled everyone. People turned to chatter and gossip and scatter as soon as that final amen boomed the white, wooden walls. Jocelyn walked out with her nice hat and clean cloak and walked before the many men of the council. She was like a shadow behind them as they walked into the courthouse and she had vanished. Nothing different.

But what was different was Samuel approaching you.

“Miss Y/L/N, have you, by chance, seen the field yet?” he questioned.

You shook your head and gave a slight bow, though propriety inside of you demanded you keep your eyes to his polished shoes, you kept looking up. At least while he was still free, you could enjoy what you saw.

“No, Master Castell, in between chores and church I have not,” you answer politely.

“Well, I have had some of my duties relieved and I have been gifted a free afternoon. Might I accompany you there? I know it’s nearby but…you may feel a little safer.” He suggested. He even stretched out an arm for you to hold onto.

You nodded eagerly, took his arm, and walked by his side. A few townspeople looked up in a little bit of amazement. Samuel Castell walking in public next to a young woman who was not his servant.

Especially not his fiancée. 

But you tried your best to ignore such squinted looks and enjoy how the sunshine felt on your cheeks and the slight green sea of grass beyond the gate.

It was a rare day in Virginia that did not feel burning compared to England. The field outside the gate was green as could be. Samuel pointed to the east and walked next to you. Soon enough, as he promised, near the woods, there were the promised flowers. Colors filled up your eyes, more colors than you could even imagine. Far more colors than England. Yellows. Reds. Whites. The greens and browns of the trees, grass, and soil.

In a few feet of walking, you spied the flowers. A whole, long crowd of them springing proudly up to that endless blue sky. You let go of his arm and raced out. A bit of childish cheering let out of you. But how long has it been since you had seen flowers?

“This land is rich in many things, not just gold,” he affirmed, calling out.

At once, you began to sit a little in the grass, picking up what you could eagerly. It felt like grabbing for bread. You brought a few yellow blooms to your face to take in that warm, earthy scent. You even spotted a small purple flower, as fragile and tiny but proud.

“Master Castell!” you said. You turned around where he had stood close by, merely watching under the shade of some trees.

You picked up the flower and brought it to him.

“I’ve never seen purple in a flower before!” you said happily.

“It’s lovely,” he agreed with a smile that made you feel even warmer.

He took it in his hands, and you admired how long and smooth his fingers looked as he twirled the little flower around, his hands were large, befitting a very tall, broad man and he could have easily crushed it. Yet he didn’t.

He handed it back to you, pressing two of his hands between yours, feeling the coolness of his rings.

“I think Alice would love it, dearly!” he commented.

“She would!” you look around and then at him. You had the urge to pause. A slight breeze picked up and you felt bits of your hair drift off.

It was getting too warm. You wanted to take it off, to have the back of your head feel free and light. To not put in another strand or hurry somewhere to tuck it into your bun at least.

But the words on your last day at the boat were still there. And you were in a man’s presence, too.

“What is it, Miss?” Samuel asked. He walked forward and leaned a little closer to you.

You lowered your eyes. 

“Would you not like to keep a few flowers? I thought a few would light up the little house I have, but perhaps you would like some as well?”

“Well I…yes, I think I would,” Samuel answers. He blinks in surprise but delighted surprise.

You stifle a laugh at the thought of making a purple flower crown and standing on your toes to crown it on his brown head. But you settle for choosing a couple of white and yellow ones and then handing it to him. The wind picks up slightly and you feel a few more untucked strands fly out. So much for propriety.

“I thought yellow because I remember that was what you were wearing when I walked off the ship,” you say.

He smiled a little, “really?”

“Well, no other person was wearing the color! So you popped out quite a bit like these flowers!”

He looked down at the blossoms. You wondered if he would comment on how his fiancée or even his servant would love them. But he was quiet, only smiling. Sweetly as well.

“I will keep them safe, my lady.” He praised tenderly.

He looked at you, breathing a little quickly. His eyes darted around a bit.

“Miss Y/L/N…” he began.

You turned around and sat up.

“I…I mean…” he started. He looked up at you and down at the flowers, twiddling the flowers a little.

“I thought this morning I heard you with the blacksmith and before that, you were singing that ballad….

It is a pleasant melody, old, but sweet. Yet I cannot remember all of the words. Only the first bit.” He explained. He fiddled with the rings on his left hand.

“Greensleeves? Well, I can…” you say shyly.

You begin to gather some flowers as you busy your hands, trying hard not to look at Samuel and sing them, or else you know you would feel something inside you break.  
“Your vows you’ve broken, like my heart

Oh, why did you so enrapture me?

Now I remain in a world apart

But my heart remains in captivity

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold

And who but my lady Greensleeves

I have been ready at your hand

To grant whatever you would crave

I have both wagered life and land

Your love and good-will for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold

And who but my lady Greensleeves”

When you peeked back at Samuel, he looked a little flushed himself.

“Well, I may have to write them down!” he quipped.

He looked at you for a moment, those last minutes finishing the garlands.

Your beautiful, smiling face underneath the sunlight. With the grass, the faint chirrup of birds, and the colorful flowers all around.

How your skirt bloomed around you gently, like a rose blossom among these.

And your sweet, soft humming, recalling and even repeating the lyrics of that old Tudor lament for memory. There was something inside him that refused silence.

He didn’t know when it started, perhaps when he noticed how you defended Alice and got to see the true nature of your character, one of bravery in the midst of danger, utter devotion to those close to your heart, empathy, and determination to fight for those who have been hurt in spite of what others in that position would choose.

Maybe it was your eyes in church, tired, but a little bright. Half in the earth, half in heaven. But which part of you came from which half was sometimes even unknown to him.

Perhaps it even started when you stepped off of that boat. Shy, a little hurried, clearly worn from the journey, yet still hopeful, curious, looking for a bit of good in spite of the grey, dirt, and rocks, and clutching a book in your hand. The only other person in all of Virginia interested in books. Other than him.

He wanted to admit it, for the first time to himself, out loud, what was locking him up. The reason for those sleepless nights he had. For when he was alone, those thoughts would not go away. Especially not in dreaming.

There was so much he wanted to say at that moment, yet all he could get out was about bloody Greensleeves lyrics.

“Are you done, my lady? Allow me to walk you home, Mercy might need assistance with supper…”

The next morning, when you woke up you noticed something at the window. A spy, perhaps? You leaped out of bed and ran forward.

But no, it was a small gathering of primroses!

“Alice, look!” you gasp, shaking her awake.

She hurried out, still in her nightgown and returned with the pink flowers in hand.

“Why, they’re beautiful! Are you going to make this hut a garden?” she wondered, sniffing them and looking at the other wildflowers around your house.

You shake your head. “Oh, no! Not at all! I didn’t pick them yesterday!”

There is no note, no object, no sign at all who the flowers are for. So you both are quiet until you start poking at her.

“I think it’s Silas…or James!” you joke.

“What, no!” Alice denies, though her blushing betrays her.

“Oh, Alice! You’re a coquette! Admit it!” you tease lightly.

Alice smiles a little bit, hits you lightly, and sniffs the flowers a second time. She collects a tin cup to put them in on the table. You both smile at how it is another pinch of color among even the wildflowers you had managed to decorate in the place.

The simultaneous gurgling of both your stomachs interrupted the scene.

“Is there any bread left? I’m famished and we can’t eat flowers!” Alice wonders. 

She walked over to the small kitchen area. There was only enough for two slices. She looked in the pot and saw that there was only so much milk that the goat was letting out at a time for two grown women to drink.

“We will be out soon…” you fret. “Do you have any spare coin for a bit of meat for later?” 

Alice shook her head. “Not much, because I’m about to be…”

A little exasperated from hunger you groan “uggh! There’s hardly anything!” You almost go over to kick the pail but you stop yourself, feeling Alice’s warm hand grab your arm so tightly you feel the bone.

You pause a bit, Alice turning pale at the reminder of who would be providing for her for the rest of her days.

“Sorry…I have a rather nasty temper sometimes…I just need to work, that’s it…” you correct.

Besides, you weren’t Alice. You didn’t have men falling at your feet with the promise of income with just one word from you.

If you wanted to have enough to live, you needed to do it yourself.

Alice chews her lip. 

“Maybe…if you went around town and spoke to a few people, you might find something. Though, one never knows what will happen, Y/N!” she shrugs.

You put on your outing cloak and tuck your hair into a cap and head off into town. If you looked carefully, amid the clang of James’s iron, the polite tipping of hats, or the smell of fires being kindled, there would be a way to make some wages.

Well, to respectfully make wages. Prostitution was at least extreme and at most possibly illegal.

But as you passed the Meeting House, there you caught two faces you had not seen in public outside of the church. One was the golden head of Jocelyn, and the other was the white-capped head of Mercy. Your mouth opened a little as if to call out her name impulsively.

But you had barely taken a step further when Jocelyn reached an arm up and slapped Mercy across the face. The servant girl was so surprised the hit pushed her to the ground.

You jumped, letting out a cry in surprise the same as Mercy. Mercy looked up, red-faced and tears welling up. Her tiny hands were full of dirt.

“That’s what you get when you won’t hold your tongue!” Jocelyn hissed, her hand was still up and her fist clenched.

Samuel had just hurried out when he saw the scene. His blue eyes seemed squinted, confused, and shocked, looking between the three women. Only you went down to catch Mercy’s hand while Jocelyn laced her arm around Samuel, sighing.

You look up at Samuel, then back down to Mercy, leaning down to pull her up.

You looked back at the two, then at Mercy.

“Mercy…you should have…well…” your mouth moved faster than your brain and Mercy was still sobbing.

“I will look after her and then return, safely.” You promise the couple and then head off. 

Samuel stole one last, sad look at you as if to memorize how your footsteps sound on the ground. Merely giving him a worried glance, you turn your head to Mercy.

“Oh…it’s you! Oh, you are such a good soul!” Mercy blabbered as you reached your home.

“I know your mistress well, Mercy. I slept near her on the ship. I was going to tell you that you should have known better than to do something to provoke her…but with Jocelyn, who knows what will provoke her,” you sigh.

The heavy smell of all of the flowers hits you even just outside the door. You lead her inside and decide to give her a bit of water.

“For you, Mistress Mercy,” you say.

Mercy returns it, the memory of your mistake shining in her eyes.

“My mistress was in a foul mood…well, my soon-to-be mistress. She kept telling me she wasn’t feeling well and my chatting was making her worse but…” she began to cry again into her cup.

“My tongue! My bloody tongue!” she wailed.

You begin to hush her and even hold her hand. Mercy cried, shaking, and then paused. Tears now were arriving much slower. Her chest was heaving far slower too.

“Miss Y/N, it’s been told people hear you sing as you do your chores,” she whimpered.

“Oh, really?” you reply with a blush.

“Do you know anything nice? Anything comforting, please. I haven’t worked for so long I can’t remember any.”

You begin singing one of comfort to her and she only looks at you, occasionally sipping her water.

and assure it’s alright when you hear a knock.

Arriving, it is Samuel again. You could have jumped if you weren’t so used to him surprising you.

“Is she alright?” he asked, leaning down to look you in the eye.

“A bit in shock, but yes, she is. She just needs a bit of time…” you answer. You turn your head back to see Mercy has set her cup down and jolted up to stand for her employer.

“I just wanted to say…thank you, for looking after her. Mercy is a gentle soul. She doesn’t even burn my bread without a hundred apologies after I was…shocked too.” He added.

“Is your…your wife at peace?” you ask, not resisting the bitterness.

“No, not yet. She is feeling very ill, she claims but Christopher will…”

“She should not have hit her,” you blurt.

“I agree.” He huffs.

Mercy’s eyes grow wide watching you both. She starts to make her way back down to her seat and keeps drinking her water.

You walk outside with him and close the door, better to leave the poor girl in peace for a second.

“Master Castell…” you begin and he looks at you.

Why? Why are you marrying her? You wanted to ask. Can’t you see who she really is?

“Master Castell…are you happy?” you manage to question.

There is a little pause. You both remain in the shadow of the house for a while as it stretches with the setting sun.  
“Almost, Y/N.”

You were a little shocked.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” he apologizes, he even steps back.

“It’s alright!” you insist, raising your hands peacefully.

“I’ll pay for it; you can call me Samuel.”

“Alright Samuel, would you like to talk to Mistress Mercy?” you offered, lightening the mood.

“I will walk her home when she is ready. I will speak with her then and Y/N…thank you. Endlessly.”

You went back to Mercy. Her face was still red and her dress dirty. You wiped off the dirt with a cloth and asked her something to distract her.

“Do you know of any work? I can sew, but I’m bad at cooking,” you list, counting skills on your fingers.

“Some gentlemen need maids for their wives and servants, I know of a few. With so many men, women are getting married every day.” Mercy reports. She sets aside her cup and curiously fingers through the flowers.

You thought of the upcoming Castell nuptials. It was probably the day after tomorrow, from the rumors you heard. As you got a cool cloth for Mercy’s cheek, you made silent plans to visit Verity’s tavern and wheedle her for as many ales as you could possibly drink that very night so you could forget…

“All it seems except my mistress…”

Your head whipped around and you nearly dropped the cloth.

“What! I mean, what do you mean?” you hiss, aware of who might be right outside the door.

“Oh, it must be one reason my mistress struck me. She doesn’t like living where she is, the bed’s too hard for her and she has to try to clean and cook like a servant, she claims.”

“Mercy, what about your mistresses’ wedding?”

“Master Castell is delaying the day of the wedding by a month!” she exclaimed.


End file.
